The sun rose earlier this morning, piercing the light mist that had settled overnight. Mero awoke at dawn, the sea still calm, though the waves seemed a little more restless. The feeling of emptiness and vastness lingered, but now another sentiment mingled with the anxiety: anticipation.

  Today, for the first time, he would begin the lessons imposed by his tutor. The sea voyage was a mandatory passage, and the studies would now commence, serving as a mental preparation before arriving at the imperial school of Mor. His tutor, Professor Antonin d'Ambrières, a distant member of the royal family, seemed stricter than Mero had imagined. Food and comfort were one thing, but academic rigor would be a completely different challenge.

  After a light breakfast, Mero headed to the ship's small study room, a cramped but functional space where his tutor was already waiting. Antonin, dressed in his formal attire, stood motionless like a marble statue, waiting silently. Beside him, a large world map was stretched across the wall, and piles of books were stacked on a small wooden table.

  "Your Highness," Antonin said in a grave but calm tone, "we shall begin with the basics. The imperial language."

  Mero sat at the table, trying to focus despite the growing anxiety. The imperial language wasn't vastly different from that of Sel, but it was more refined and nuanced. Antonin started with simple sentences, gradually increasing the difficulty. There was no mercy. Mero had to learn the correct syntax, the expressions used at court, and most importantly, grasp the subtleties of this language that defined social and political boundaries.

  The nurse, who often lingered near the door, cast a discreet glance but said nothing. Mero, despite himself, felt a bit more at ease knowing she was there, even if she couldn't intervene.

  The morning continued in heavy silence, broken only by the tutor's instructions. Time passed slowly, each repetition seemingly more difficult than the last. Mero wasn't used to such intensity. In the kingdom of Sel, learning was gentler, more fluid. Here, everything seemed geared towards efficiency and precision.

  At noon, the bell rang, signaling the end of the language lesson. Mero, his shoulders tense, quickly stood up to take a break. The rest of the crew carried on with their activities, and Baran, the cook, gave him a wink from the deck. Mero forced a smile in return, though his mind was elsewhere.

  The afternoon brought a new series of lessons. This time, it was the history of the empire and its conquests. Antonin explained the wars that had led to the unification of the kingdom of Dauph and how each conquered region and kingdom had to adapt to the imperial order. The focus was on the importance of understanding the past to serve the empire appropriately.

  "You see, Mero," Antonin said, flipping through an old manuscript, "the empire isn't just a vast expanse of land. It's a vision. A vision of unity, of order. That's what you must understand if you want to find your place in this world."

  Mero listened without speaking, though his thoughts often drifted back to the kingdom of Sel, its tranquil islands, and his desire to leave everything behind. But he knew it was inevitable. Antonin's voice always brought him back to reality: he wasn't here for dreams but to fulfill a duty.

  By the end of the day, as promised by the tutor, Mero began weapons training. It was the only part of the program he appreciated, though he still felt somewhat nervous. The sea was full of secrets, and the sailors who participated in the weapons lessons were just as mysterious. Swords, bows, and knives were objects he knew little about, and he was curious to learn.

  One of the sailors, a man with a face weathered by years at sea, introduced himself as the sword specialist.

  "We'll teach you to handle them with finesse, kid. Not just to strike but to think, to anticipate. On a ship, weapons are extensions of yourself, almost like the sea."

  That evening, Mero went to bed early, exhausted by the intense first day of work. The waves seemed to whisper distant stories, but all he wanted at that moment was to close his eyes and let his thoughts drown in sleep. Another day would come, another set of lessons. Maybe he could learn to appreciate the discipline.

  The wind picked up that night, rustling the ship's sails. The sea was now less calm, with larger waves gently rocking the boat. Mero had trouble falling asleep; the smell of salt and the constant motion of the ship made him nervous. He had never experienced anything like it. The days were long, and the distance from the kingdom of Sel already weighed heavily on him.

  Morning came, and as usual, Antonin made him work on the imperial language. Today, it was a complex discussion about common court expressions. Mero, already tired, struggled to concentrate.

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  The nurse, as usual, was near the door, silently watching but not daring to intervene. This morning, she seemed particularly attentive, as if something was worrying her. She cast a furtive glance at Mero before turning to look outside, observing the crewmen.

  Mero turned to his tutor with a serious expression, trying to hide his discomfort at the rigidity of the teaching. He asked his question in a calm but determined voice.

  "Master Antonin, could you explain in detail once more the war between the kingdom of Dauph and that of Fine? The one that allowed Dauph to become an empire."

  Antonin raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by Mero's sincere interest in imperial history, but he immediately straightened up, aware that his role was to answer such curiosity.

  "Of course, Mero." He adjusted his glasses with a gesture that betrayed his own rigor and passion for historical precision. "The war against the kingdom of Fine is a crucial episode in the history of the empire of Mor. It marked the end of independent kingdoms and the rise of imperial domination."

  Antonin paused to ensure Mero was attentive before beginning his account.

  "The king of Dauph was attacked by the kingdom of Fine. The armies clashed in numerous battles, most of which Dauph won thanks to its artillery and the strategies of General Mor. The war against Fine ended after a series of political tensions, and the death of Prince Machiol, the son of the king of Dauph, played a decisive role in the escalation. You must know that this murder, which occurred during a tragic accident, precipitated the kingdom of Dauph into a spiral of civil war and hatred. The murderer, Flavius, a mere soldier, became unintentionally the catalyst for the conflict that would change everything."

  Antonin adjusted his posture, ensuring he captured Mero's attention.

  "But the most important thing wasn't the military victory—it was the price paid. The kingdom of Dauph lost not only its prince but also all stability. The king of Dauph, driven mad by the loss of his son, took his own life. That was when the real war began, a war of power where nobles engaged in a series of betrayals and broken alliances. And when General Mor managed to reclaim the lands and establish a new order, he created the kingdom of Mor, which would later become the empire."

  Antonin turned again to the map of the empire, tracing the lines of the old borders.

  "The lands of Fine were absorbed quickly but at a cost. It was a time of brutal conquest and domination, but also forced assimilation. It wasn't just a military war; it was a war to erase the identities of the peoples and integrate them into the emerging empire."

  He turned back to Mero, his gaze becoming more serious.

  "What you must understand, Mero, is that this war not only redefined borders but also reshaped the very soul of the kingdom. The empire wasn't built on glory or purity but on blood, suffering, and survival. Flavius, that soldier caught in the whirlwind of war, was at the center of this machine."

  He let a heavy silence settle.

  "So, the kingdom of Dauph became an empire, yes, but at what cost? An empire built on betrayal, murder, and the suffering of innocents. And that is how history is written, Mero."

  A strange sensation stirred in Mero. The story of this war, of one country invading another, seemed both fascinating and terrifying. The scope of human ambition, the pride of kingdoms, and the price of conquest... He wondered what it all meant for him, a mere boy destined to study in this expanding empire.

  Antonin waited for Mero's response, but before he could ask another question, Mero observed the sea outside the cabin, signaling the end of their conversation for the moment. The wind blew strongly, and the ship swayed slightly, bringing a solemn silence to the air.

  "Do you have any other questions, Mero?" Antonin asked, his piercing eyes scrutinizing the young boy, who seemed deep in thought.

  Mero frowned, pensive. He knew that the empire's history was complex and that the question of unity was crucial. Antonin had mentioned several times the importance of maintaining cohesion within the empire, but the answers remained vague. He hoped that this new question would provide him with more insight.

  "Master Antonin," he said calmly, "how does the empire manage to stay unified while subjugating peoples of different cultures and languages? I understand that we chose to integrate into the empire, but those who were subjugated—how do they react? How does the empire manage these differences?"

  Antonin straightened again, this time as if preparing to give a more thorough answer. He took a moment to organize his thoughts before beginning his explanation.

  "It's a complex question, Mero, and the answer lies in a series of strategic mechanisms." He crossed his arms, adopting a more relaxed posture. "The empire of Dauph understood that the diversity of the peoples it conquered could be an asset, but that rigorous measures were necessary to avoid revolts. After the war against the kingdom of Fine, for example, it didn't just

  impose military occupation; it set up an administration that integrated local elites, thus granting them partial power in the empire's decisions."

  He paused, observing Mero's reaction.

  "But that wasn't all. The imposition of the imperial language became essential. People had to learn to communicate in the language of their conquerors to have a chance of thriving in the imperial administration. Cultural and religious practices were also subtly influenced. Instead of banning local beliefs outright, the empire absorbed elements, incorporating them into an imperial version of history and religion."

  Antonin leaned slightly forward, emphasizing his point.

  "Finally, there's education. The imperial schools, like the one you're about to attend in Mor, play a crucial role in unifying the empire's youth. Young people from all backgrounds come together, learn the same things, share experiences, and thus become part of the same culture, despite their origins. You, Mero, will witness this firsthand."

  Mero listened intently, his mind absorbing this vast and sometimes ruthless world. Antonin's words painted a picture of an empire both powerful and fragile, built on delicate balances.

  "Does it always work?" Mero asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

  Antonin's lips curled into a subtle smile. "Not always, Mero. The empire is a constant work in progress, and maintaining unity is an art as much as it is a science. But you'll learn more about that in time."